


Put Your Hands on Me, Baby

by runsinthefamily



Series: Nineteen [4]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: healer kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 12:26:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12108702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runsinthefamily/pseuds/runsinthefamily
Summary: From the Kmeme:"Because I need more doc!Anders in my life. And his casting is just too damn sexy.So, somebody notices just how sexy Anders is when healing, and starts coming to the clinic to watch Anders work. Smut is always appreciated, but what I want to see the most here is Anders in the hardcore healer mode, and his admirer to be completly head over heels for it. And if you’d want to really indulge me, I wouldn’t mind some H/C over losing a patient, but it’s not necessary."This takes place around about Chapter Five of Nineteen.





	1. Chapter 1

"Go away, Hawke," said Varric.

"Whhyyy," she said. She was stretched out on his bed, feet up on headboard, drumming her toes against the wall.

"Because if you stay I will try to kill you," he said. "I'm working here, if you hadn't noticed."

"Fine," she said. She huffed her way off his bed and pulled her boots back on. "Don't think I'm going to forget this betrayal," she said.

"It isn't my fault that you're bored," said Varric. "Go - hit up the Chantry board or wander out to the Coast or irritate Aveline or something."

"The Board is empty, I don't want to walk eight miles to kill some bandits, and Aveline already chased me off," said Priana morosely.

"Go have a drink with Broody."

"No!" said Priana. "He's angry at me about that mage boy."

"Have a drink with the Rivaini?"

"She's fucking someone. For like the last two days. You haven't heard them?"

"Go - go pray with the Choirboy?"

Priana gave him a look laden with all the scorn she could muster.

"Alright, then, think of something yourself," he said. "Just so long as you do it somewhere else."

"I see right through you, Varric," she said. "You aren't really my friend. You just keep me around to get things off high shelves."

"Out!"

She slouched through the doors of the Hanged Man, smirking. The afternoon sun was beginning to lengthen the shadows but she wasn't going to go home yet. Her mother was no doubt waiting for her, another lecture about safety and responsibility and the Amell name brewing. To the Void with that.

Over to the side, the door to Lirene's place opened and released a skinny woman clutching her right arm close to her body.

"The lit lamp, yes," said Lirene, pressing something into the woman's good hand. She glanced up and saw Priana. "Hawke."

The lit lamp. "Is he back?" Priana asked. Suddenly the day was looking so much brighter.

"Yes," said Lirene. "Can you, do you think ..." she looked at the woman.

"Sure, I'll take her," said Priana. "Darktown is kind of intimidating. And stinky. And dangerous." The woman's eyes were growing steadily wider. "But don't worry, so am I. Not stinky, the other things."

Lirene gave her an exasperated look. "This is Helena. Helena, Hawke. She's a bit of an idiot, but she'll get you there safe. Here," she handed Priana a box. "Supplies for the clinic. And tell Anders he's to come up here for supper."

"Sure," said Priana.

The walk down to Darktown was uneventful, which was a nice change. They'd suppressed the Carta presence not long before Anders had left on one of his mysterious jaunts and it looked like the lesson was still holding. Helena didn't speak much. She was Ferelden, that much was obvious, but she didn't say anything about how she'd been injured and Priana didn't pry. It wasn't her business. _Everyone is free to go to the Void in whatever way seems best to them,_ her father used to say. _Unless they ask for help, don't presume that you know better than they do._

The lamp was indeed lit. It couldn't have been for long, though, because there were only a few people waiting in the large room inside the doors. Priana deposited Helena on an overturned crate in the care of one of the volunteers and turned to scan the room.

There. In the corner by the collapsed wall. His messy blond hair straggling out of its tail, his narrow face tense with concentration, both hands on the head of a lumpish man with blood all down one side of his neck. Her stomach turned over and her hands went hot.

Anders.

He finished with the man and backed away, his hands still crawling with blue light. "There," he said. "Try to keep it uncracked for at least a week this time, I hate feeling like people aren't appreciating my work."

"Aye, healer," said the man sheepishly.

"Next," Anders said, turning. "Oh! Hawke. What's going on?"

"Nothing," she said, shrugging. "I just heard you were back. Lirene sent these and says to tell you that you're to come up and eat supper with her tonight."

Anders smiled as he took the box. "Dear woman," he said fondly, looking down at the bandages and empty bottles and bundles of elfroot and spindleweed.

A sudden, horrible thought struck Priana. "Oh, is she, um ... are you ...?" _Brilliant. Just brilliant. Open up a little wider, I think I could get my toes down past my tonsils if I really tried._

 

"What?" asked Anders, confused. "What, you mean, me and Lirene? Ah, no," he said firmly. "Very no. She's got a large, hulking husband. He works at the Docks. Very strong handshake," he finished.

"Oh," said Hawke. "Good for her. Everyone should have ... someone."

They stood for a moment while Anders looked at her and she looked very carefully at everything that wasn't him.

"Did you need something else?" he asked finally.

"No," she said, deflating a little. "I can see you're busy."

"Not that busy," he said, making a little, abortive gesture.

"There's a woman with a broken arm over there," she said. "And I'm keeping you from healing her. That makes me a terrible person, I think."

He half smiled, took a breath to say something, let it out again, and then said, quickly, "Stick around and do penance for your sin, in that case."

"Alright," she said. Happiness rose up in her like bubbles through ale. "Well, give me that again, in that case. I'll go shelve this stuff."

"Good idea," he said, handing back the box. Stores are off in the corner, there. Bandages go in the latches boxes, bottles under the table. The elfroot you can chop up and then grind to paste. Make sure you get all the leaves and stalk off."

"Uh," she said. "Right." Not exactly her envisioned scene, with her standing behind his shoulder, close and supportive, while he wove healing magic, ready to ... do what? She could wield knives and make inappropriate jokes, neither of which was usually called for beside a sickbed. Chopping elfroot was probably just her speed.

He healed Helena's broken arm, and a wheezing old granny, and three children with oil burns who came in without an adult, and a tired looking woman in a scant red dress who tried to give Anders money and then wept when he wouldn't take it. Priana shelved and chopped and ground and listened to Anders make the world a better place, one person at a time.

And then the sailor arrived.

The place had emptied out, the volunteers departed, and Priana was trying to find something to say to Anders. Something witty, but not Priana witty. Suave and charming witty. Sexy witty. The problem was that whenever he looked at her, words vanished out of her brain like smoke.

"Well." Anders bundled up dirty sheets and dropped them into a hamper. "Thanks for your help today -"

The door burst open, slamming back against the wall and three men came through, carrying a fourth. Blood was everywhere, smeared across their faces, on their clothes, pattering on the floor as they crossed it.

"Healer!" one of them cried. "Where's the healer?"

"I'm here." Anders came to them swiftly, calm authority in every stride. "Here, on the table. What happened?"

"Fight broke out in the Doxie's Dock, just fists and that, nothing but a piss-up, and then some lunatic comes at Lukan with a Maker-damned boathook. Ripped him stem to stern. Can you - "

Gut wound. Priana masked a grimace. The stench of it rode the air, blood and shit and acid. The man was doomed.

"Hawke. Go to the back and get the box from under my bed. Hurry." Anders laid a hand on the man's forehead and a faint pulse of white light blossomed.

The back turned out to be Anders's room, such as it was. A washstand, a shelf stacked with books, a narrow, sagging rope bed hardly better than the cots out front. Priana knelt down to reach under it and got a faceful of the smell of Ander's sheets. Musky, a bit stale, but so very Anders that it made her slightly faint.

_Stop sniffing his sheets you desperate creeper, a man is dying!_

The box was small and tinkled a bit as she ran back out into the main room. Anders had Lukan laid out, shirt and vest cut open and pulled away from his torso. One long-fingered hand was spread on Lukan's chest and his head was bowed. She stopped at the head of the table, uncertain.

"This is going to take a while," said Anders, without opening his eyes. "I'm going to need you to feed me one of those when I ask, alright?"

Priana opened the box. Seven vials, glowing phosphorescent blue. "Oh, Maker," she muttered.

"It will be alright," said Anders and she couldn't help but believe him. The blue flickers around his fingers abruptly swelled into a blaze too bright to look upon. Priana winced, squinted through watering eyes.

_Maker, he's so beautiful._

Anders was bathed in blue light, his face serene, his eyes shut. His lips parted slightly, moved in a soundless chant. The sheer amount of power pouring off him was enough to make Priana's skin prickle and it went on and on, staggering in its intensity.

"Now," he said calmly.

It took her a moment to gather her wits and fumble a vial open. She tipped it into his mouth, carefully. A drop fell on his lower lip and he sucked it off. A shudder ran through him as the lyrium took effect. The light wavered a moment and then surged brighter still.

It took him twenty minutes and two more potions before he carefully drew the man's torn abdomen back together again, internal organs healed and cleansed and tucked back into their proper places. The scar left behind was ugly but faded. Lukan's friends gathered around, murmuring in awe.

"It's a bloody miracle," said one.

Anders stumbled as he stepped back from the table and Priana caught him. "It's magic serving man," she said. "No templars required."

"As you say, miss." The sailor ducked his head respectfully. "Will you take payment, ser? We dont have much, but ..."

"You can donate at Lirene's, in Lowtown, if you want," said Anders, wearily. "This is a free clinic."

"Right. Yes."

Lukan stirred a little, groaning.

"Take him on back to your ship," said Anders. "Get some food and water in him. Meat, if you can, he's lost a lot of blood."

"Ser." The sailors all bowed their heads, gathered up their friend, and left.

"Sit down," Priana insisted, tugging Anders over to a cot. "You're shaking."

"It's the lyrium. Always does this to me." He held out a wildly vibrating hand and looked at it wryly.

She went to one knee in front of him and clasped his hand in both of hers. It was cold and dry and trembled like a captured bird in her grasp. "That was the most amazing thing I've ever seen."

He made a small, dismissive sound. She reached out and took hold of his other hand, folding his long fingers toward his palm so she could cover it with hers. "What can I do? Water? Something to eat?"

"Maker, no." He grimaced. "My guts are all aroil with the lyrium. Anything I eat now is just going to end up on the ground." He drew his hands carefully away from hers and gave her a smile. "I'll be fine. Thank you for your help."

"Anytime." Priana stood, reluctantly. "Maybe I'll come by again."

He clasped his hands together, one thumb rubbing restlessly at the other. "I would welcome the assistance."

"Tomorrow?" Priana's mouth blurted, before her brain could stop it.

He looked up, startled. "Alright," he said. "I mean, yes. That would be ... fine."

Priana took a deep breath. "Tomorrow, then. I'll douse the lamp as I go."

"Good. Yes." His shoulders slumped a little.

"You make sure to rest," she said.

"I'll be falling into bed directly," he said and gave her that half-smile, the one that made her want to kiss him senseless.

Or fall into his bed. With him. The sense memory of the smell of his sheets was like a wave, drowning her. She bit the inside of her cheek.

"Goodbye. Tomorrow. Bye." She left, before she could grab him or faint or say anything else, Maker she was such an idiot, she was never talking again, ever.

She couldn't wait to tell Isabela.


	2. Chapter 2

She snuck out of the house early the next day, before anyone was awake, and was halfway to the rickety elevator by the Foundry waste outflow by the time her good sense caught up with her. Appearing on his doorstep at the crack of dawn like some sad little puppy was not exactly in line with how she wanted to present herself. Oh god, and if he wasn't even awake yet and got out of bed to find her waiting sadly by the unlit lamp?

_I hung out on your doorstep because I love you!_

"Augh," she said out loud, grabbing two fistfuls of her hair. Alright, she had some time to kill. Everyone she knew was likely still sleeping. "The Chantry board," she said. True, it lay all the way up the steps to Hightown, but by the time she went up and then back down again, even if there was nothing worthwhile on the board, it might be an hour that was a bit more acceptable to be knocking on certain apostate's doors.

There was nothing on the Board other than some prayers for various sick and wayward relatives of the congregation, a vaguely worded public call for peace from the Grand Cleric, and a note, poorly spelled in large, straggling letters, for someone to please find Melisane's pet kitten named Fierce, smoke grey in colour, yellow eyes, very , yes, fierce. _She is nott larg and has a pofy tale plese let sister Margrit no if you find her._

 _Poor mite_ , thought Priana. _I bet I could get Anders to help me look for a kitten._

"Serah Hawke!"

She spun, half-crouching, one hand hovering near the hilt of a dagger.

Sebastian Vale stood a few yards away, hands spread, a wary smile on his face. "Did I startle you?"

"Uh," she said. "Sorry. Reflexes." She offered him a sunny smile.

"I just meant to thank you again for the lovely treat last month," he said. "Thank the Maker the heat has finally broken."

Small talk. She suppressed her groan and nodded politely. "Most welcome, Brother Sebastian."

"Just Sebastian," he said with an easy grin. His blue eyes twinkled at her.

"Well, then, I'm Priana," she said.

"Were you coming in for morning prayers? Or confession?"

"Ah, no," said Priana. "Never really saw the point, to be honest. Like talking to someone after they've already left the room. And the house. And town."

"Blessed Andraste hears us," said Sebastian, gently. "She carries our prayers to the Maker's ears."

"Eternal errand girl?" said Priana, despite her best efforts. "Not exactly the marriage I'd hope for."

Sebastian opened his mouth and then closed it again.

"Well!" said Priana brightly, snatching the kitten note off the Board and waving it. "Must go, very busy, lovely to see you again, keep on ... with the praying. Goodbye!" She hurried off, biting the insides of her cheeks to keep from laughing out loud.

She was still snickering a little when she stepped off the creaking wreck of an elevator into the fetid funk of Darktown. Maker, Sebastian was just such an easy mark.

She wasn't so distracted as to miss the grab at her sleeve. A squawk of pain, frail bones twisting in her grip, and then she had the skinny kid against the nearest wall. She let go as soon as she recognized the face. One of Anders's runners, the smallest members of his mysterious web of friends and acquaintances that he never wanted her to meet. The kid's eyes were enormous.

"What's happened?" she asked, her stomach plummeting. "What's wrong?"

"Don't go to the clinic, messire," said the kid. "Templars, kicking in doors all over Darktown."

Panic seized her. "Where's Anders?"

"Dunno, messire. Not there!" he added frantically as he saw her start to turn.

"Shit," she muttered. "Do you know where he goes when ... no, of course you don't. Thanks for the warning. Here," she flipped him a silver. He snatched it out of the air and took off running.

 

Lirene would know. She jumped back onto the elevator and began hauling at the ropes.

Lirene's was closed. Priana ran all the way to the Hanged Man and burst into Varric's rooms, panting and sweating and still clutching the crumpled kitten note in one hand. "Varric!"

Three heads lifted around Varric's table. Merrill, Varric and ...

"Anders!" she said. She reined in her impulse to fling herself across the room and into his arms just late enough that it manifested as a weird, jerky half-step, with accompanying outward flailing of her arms. _Oh, sweet Andraste, just let me die right now_. "Merrill1!" she chirruped desperately.

"Hawke," said Varric. "The templars are conducting their bi-monthly 'we're bastards' door-kicking, so I invited the two mages over for a game. Care to join us?"

"Um," said Priana.

"What's that, Hawke?" asked Merrill, pointing to the bit of scrap in Priana's hand. "Is it a job?"

"Yes!" said Priana. _You stupid ass. Now she's going to ask what_ -

"What are we doing this time?" Merrill practically bounced in her seat, ignoring Anders's sour look. "More bandits? More flower picking? I like those jobs, even if it seems like there are as many bandits when we pick flowers as when we're actually hunting them."

"Oh, well, bandits," said Priana. "They're reliable, at least." Anders was looking at her, one eyebrow raised.

"Is it bandits, then?" Merrill looked expectant.

"Is what bandits?"

"The job, Hawke," said Varric.

"No," Priana said, gathering her wits with a distinct effort. "Um. It's just a little one, and I figured, since I knew Anders was free today ..."

"Merrill is free, too," said Varric, his brows lowering. "And I'm free."

"The more the merrier!" Anders said with a smile that was just a smidge too wide and cheerful.

"Right," said Priana. "Right."

"So what's the job?" Merrill asked again, getting up to fetch her staff.

Priana surrendered. "We're finding a kitten."

"What?" asked Varric, amused disbelief heavy in his voice.

"A kitten? That shouldn't be hard, there's lots in the alienage," said Merrill.

"A specific kitten," she said. "Some little kid in Hightown's lost hers." She handed the note to Anders.

The mix of amusement, sympathy, and tenderness on his face as he read it about made her knees melt. "Sounds like a perfectly good job to me," he said. "Let's go rescue Fierce the Kitten."

"This," said Varric, "is not going in the story."

"Why not?" asked Merrill, poking at a bush with her staff. "Here kitty kitty!"

"We need a bit of fish," said Anders. "Or milk."

"I think this is perfectly story-worthy," said Priana, loftily. "Puss-puss-puss!"

Varric stood in the street, watching them comb the little park with Bianca resting on one shoulder and a rueful grin. "Only you, Hawke. Only you."

"Where does this girl live again?" asked Anders.

"End of the street." Sister Margaret had been touched that anyone was taking little Virella's task seriously.

"A three month old kitten is not going to go far." Anders bent down and looked behind a statue.

"You don't think that it's ..." Merrill trailed off and then leaned forward, "...dead?"

Anders sighed. "It's a possibility."

"Nope," said Priana. "Not dead."

"How do you know?"

"Because having a name like 'Virella' is trial enough. The Maker wouldn't take her kitten as well."

"We should check closer to the house," said Anders.

It was Varric who found Fierce, in the end. Crouched, shivering, behind a stack of crates in a shadowed corner, bleeding and terrified and hissing. His attempt to fish her out resulting in an ungodly feline scream and he let go, startled.

"That's pain," said Anders. "C'mere sweetheart, come on. It will be alri - ow!" He snatched back his fingers, four neat slashes beading blood.

"Virella named her well, at least," said Priana, squatting to look into the dark nook. Lambent green eyes glared back at her. "Oh, you're Fierce, yes you are." She inched her hand forward, palm on the ground. "So fierce, yes, a warrior. Little warrior, little wee warrior. You know who you are." Another few inches. The kitten was growling a little but wasn't backing away or yowling. "Yes, it's alright, I know you. I know you." Priana dropped her voice a little, speaking slower, softer. "Don't you want to go back home, little warrior? Drink milk, play with yarn? Come and we'll go home, what do you say, hmm?" She could feel fur now. A nose touched the back of her index finger. She raised it slightly and wiggled it into the fur on the kitten's chin. After a moment there was a hesitant rumble.

When she brought her hand back out again, cupped carefully around the bedraggled, bloody kitten, Anders gave her a smile so brilliant she could only hold out the kitten toward him, blinking and wordless.

"That was wonderful," said Merrill. "How did you know how to do it?"

"I never told you the story of how I got my mabari, did I?"

"You have a dog?" asked Merrill.

"He stays at home, mostly, to take care of Mother and Bethany," said Priana, distractedly. Anders was bent over her hands, petting the kitten's head. "Is she hurt?"

"Broken leg, I think," said Anders. "And it looks like those bloody Gallows crows have been at her, wretched things. This is going to hurt her, can you hold her still?"

Priana cradled the kitten carefully against her chest, leaving the poor crooked leg sticking out.

"Um," said Anders.

Varric cleared his throat for some reason.

"I'll try to be quick." Anders took the broken leg in careful fingers and straightened it.

The kitten yowled and scrabbled at Priana, who ignored the needle-sharp claws and murmured reassuringly to it. The glow of healing magic leapt up, washing the leg and the gouged hindquarters in blue.

Priana stared at the sure flex and spread of Anders's fingers as they smoothed down the cat's back, leaving whole flesh behind. Even the fur sprang up thick and shining where he passed. He wore a small half-smile the whole time, his eyes tender and kind. It made Priana want to be a kitten.

"Brave kitty," he said as the glow died, finishing his healing with a skritch behind the kitten's ears. Fierce blinked and then yawned, hugely.

"Oh, Anders, how sweet of you," said Merrill. "Healing for a cat! I never thought a shem, that is, it was nice of you."

"Very nice," said Varric.

Anders stepped away from Priana and the kitten, much to her regret.

"Well. I like cats."

 _A lost kitten with a broken leg. This is who I am jealous of._ "Let's go deliver the furball, shall we?" Priana smiled brightly at him.

Virella was exceedingly grateful. They stood awkwardly in the foyer of the grand estate under the watchful eye of Lady Nervania's butler while the girl cooed and cuddled and kissed the kitten.

"Very grateful," said the Lady coolly. "My daughter is ... quite attached."

"Thank you so much!" said Virella. "I was careless with the window, but I won't ever let it happen again, I promise."

"Kirkwall's not the safest place," said Priana, caught the Lady's eye, and hastily amended, "for kittens."

"Allow me to offer a small token of thanks," said Lady Nervania.

"No, no," said Priana, hands up. "Purely a, a humanitarian mission. Felintarian? Wouldn't hear of it."

Behind her, Varric sighed.

"As you will," said the Lady, nonplussed.

"You named her well," said Priana to Virella, who smiled shyly.

"We won't take up any more of your time," said Varric briskly.

"Nobles," he muttered, back out on the street. "The same everywhere. You should have taken the money, though, Hawke."

"I didn't want to," said Priana. "Not in front of the little girl."

"Too good to get paid?" Varric eyed her irritably. "I'm not, just so you know."

"I wanted her to remember," said Priana. "Sometimes people just do good things."

There was a short silence. Then Varric elbowed her lightly. "You're a softie, Hawke. Good for you I'm around to keep things mercenary."

"Would you tell me the story now?" asked Merrill as they slowly made their way down the steps to Lowtown.

"What story?"

"About your mabari," Merrill said.

"Oh! Right." Priana sighed. "About a year before the Blight the Arl came through to inspect the fields and congratulate the farmers and preside over the midsummer festival - all the usual dogshit nobles do to remind you that they're in charge. He had some mabari with him, including a bunch of puppies he was taking to some other lord's kennel. I guess they left without counting them, because a week later I was down by the river gathering rushes when I heard this pathetic whimpering."

"The puppy!"

"The very same," said Priana. "Skinny and sad and cut all down one shoulder. I talked to him for an hour before he let me touch him. I stripped off my tunic and carried him home in it. My mother tore me up one side and down the other for walking about in just my breastband but Da healed the pup good as new, and he was mine after that."

"Beautiful, deadly, and good with animals," said Varric. "Maybe I can make this into a story after all."

"Put some stabbing in it," said Priana cheerfully.

"Don't have her stabbing any puppies!" said Merrill. "That's not very heroic."

"Baby spiders, maybe?" Varric suggested.

"I suppose that would be alright..."

"So," said Anders as the other two ran off on a tangent about baby darkspawn and baby brontos and baby bandits with tiny baby cutthroat knives. "It's not just human and elven strays that you pick up."

"Nope." He'd hooked one hand into his belt and the crook of his strong, elegant thumb was doing things to her. Every time she looked at it, she wanted to kiss it, or maybe put it in her mouth and bite it, very gently.

"It's a gift," he said.

"Uh?" she asked, coherently.

"You'd be great with the children," he went on.

"What? Children? Whose children?"

"At the clinic," he said. "If you were still interested in helping out."

"Yes! I mean, yes. I am."

"The Templars should be done with their bullying and kidnapping in a few days." The barest hint of blue flared in his eyes. "I'll send word when I reopen?"

"Alright."

At the bottom of the steps, Merrill was leaning on Varric's wide shoulder, giggling helplessly, while he grinned at her. His grin faded a bit when he looked at Priana and Anders.

"Well," he said. "Come on back to the Hanged Man and we'll finish that card game. Tag along, Hawke?"

"You just want more heartwarming dog stories," Priana accused him.

"What else are Fereldens good for?" he chuckled and slung an arm around her waist.

Anders stepped away to let him by and Priana cast one last look at his biteable thumb before Varric steered her away.


	3. Chapter 3

It was two days later that Priana stepped off the lift into the worst Darktown fug she'd smelled yet. Usually by the time she got to Anders's clinic door, she'd accustomed to the smell, but she was still breathing through her sleeve and trying not to inhale too deeply when she rounded the corner and saw the crowd waiting.

"Maker," she said.

Ragged people, many too ill to stand, were packed onto the small landing and all down the stairs. She slid through as quickly as she could, dodging piles of vomit and worse, desperately attempting to keep her own gorge down.

"No cutting in line," a haggard woman holding a man upright shouted at her as she passed, and other muttered in agreement.

"I'm here to help the healer," said Priana. "I promise you, I'm just here to help."

The woman subsided suspiciously and Priana made it to the doors and inside.

It was worse in the clinic, people laying on all the beds and on the floor and sitting against the walls. Lirene was there, and all three of Anders's usual helpers, all of them looking frazzled. Anders himself was kneeling on the floor next to a man, helping him to sit upright as he sicked up spectacularly into a basin.

"Hello, Hawke," said Anders, looking up. "Welcome to my glamorous life."

A bout of fever, with attendant diarrhea and vomiting, had swept through Darktown. It had the benefit of driving the Templars out early, but seven people had already died, one of them in the line outside the clinic doors. Anders put Priana to work at one of the tables in the back, boiling water and salt and honey in mass quantities and distributing it among the ill.

"I can heal the sickness," Anders said. "But what's killing these people is dehydration."

It was one of the worst days of her life.

She'd killed people, slit them open and spilled their guts on the ground. She'd helped a cow calve, saw her father stick his arm up to the shoulder into the beast, his cheek pressed against her manure-smeared bottom. She'd killed darkspawn, for the Maker's sake, she should have been inured to disgusting sights and smells. And in truth, it wasn't the grossness of what she saw and smelled that made her stomach clench and her spirit flinch. It was the people.

Their naked desperation, their hollow cheeks. Several times, women and men offered themselves to Anders, to the other helpers, to her, unable to believe that the clinic was truly free. "Please," one young man said as she passed by on the steps outside, ladling the salt and honey water out. "I don't have money but I ..." he dropped his eyes and then looked up through his lashes. "I would be so grateful." The girl who clung to him, no more than eight, watched without expression. The most horrible part was how good he was at it, that for a moment Priana had looked at his lips, his shoulders.

"The clinic is free," she said, too forcefully. "You don't need to pay anything."

He looked at her warily.

"I - " she said and then turned away and went on down the line, shaking a little, revolted and pitying and so grateful to Gamlen, useless barnacle that he was, because it could so easily have been her there, could have been Bethany, or Mother. Sick and poor and without options.

All day, she went back and forth, filling cups, changing sheet laden with unspeakable filth, watching people weep and curse and pray. At one point she realized that she was crying and had no idea how long it had been going on. One of the helpers, a middle aged woman name Mirel, fainted partway through the afternoon, and Priana helped her into the back and laid her on Anders's bed and gave her a cup of the salt honey water and then went back out into hell.

And every time she turned around, Anders was bent over another suffering patient, his hands always clean, always gentle against their brow, their chest, their back. He laid his hands on them and took away their pain and they watched him as if he were Andraste resurrected.

Priana was the one who saw the wince as he stood, the hand in the small of his back, the pinch between his brows that grew deeper and deeper.

When at last they were done, when he'd seen every person, when the ones that could walk had been sent home and the ones who couldn't were bedded down in every corner of the clinic, including three in the tiny alcove that was his chamber, Priana was so tired that she wanted to cry.

She was standing at the table, elfoot in one hand and a knife in the other, staring dumbly at them as if they were pieces in the greatest puzzle ever posed to mankind. Anders came up beside her and leaned one hip on the table. She was too tired even to appreciate the weary grace of his movements, the beautiful crook of his tired smile ...

Alright, she wasn't that tired. It was, perhaps, impossible to be that tired.

"Trial by fire," he said ruefully. "You didn't have to stay but I am so grateful that you did."

"Trial by something, at least," she said, waving a sprig of elfroot in a way that she hoped looked offhand and not just absurd. "I couldn't go," she went on. "It's not polite to leave a party early."

"Puking, shitting, weeping, everyone laying about on the floor," he said. "I think I've been that party a few times."

She laughed and couldn't stop, and then suddenly was crying. "Oh, no," she said, aghast. "No, I'm sorry, I don't do this, really. Shit."

Anders stepped forward then she was pressed against his, well, frankly disgusting shirt, but she was plenty disgusting herself and even if it was disgusting and her nose was running, she wasn't about to turn down his embrace.

"Yeah," he said, against her hair. "It's awful, isn't it?"

She shook her head. "Not that bad," she said. "'M just tired."

He sighed, deep and shuddering, and she remembered that he had to be twice as weary as she, what with all the healing. "I don't even have a bed," he said, as if he'd just realized it.

"Come home with me," she said. He let go of her, a slightly startled look on his face. "I'll make you a pad in front of the stove. It's better than some corner down here. Not much better," she conceded, "but still."

"Right," he said. "A pad, right. Stove. Right."

"Is that a yes or do you need to say 'right' a few more times, first?"

He laughed, no more than a huff and a slight quirk of his mouth. "Yes," he said. "Thank you."

"Oh, Andraste's ass," said Priana. "Now we have walk there, don't we?"

"You can lean on me if I can lean on you," he offered.

"Anytime," she said. It came out far more honestly than she had intended.

"Thank you," he said for the third time, his amber eyes serious.

"Right," she said brightly and offered him her elbow, like Hightown nobility out for a stroll. "Shall we?"

He linked his arm through hers and laid his long fingers against her sleeve. She could feel their warmth. "Let's."

Anders. In her house. Ten steps and a decrepit door away.

Priana turned over in her bed, restlessly. He'd taken off the jacket and the undercoat before settling down in front of the fireplace and the memory of his shoulderblades beneath the thin grey linen of his shirt ... lingered. His wrists, emerging from the frayed cuffs. The graceful arc of his collarbones, the golden hair that peeked from the loosened v of his collar.

She turned over again, causing Bethany to complain sleepily from the upper bunk. Maker, she was exhausted, she should be sleeping but every time she closed her eyes ...

His long fingers, lit with blue.

Priana bit her lip and slid one hand into her smallclothes. Anders. Lit with arcane fire, licking lyrium from his bottom lip _let me do that for you Anders_ , jaw set, hands spread, Anders with tender eyes and lips turned softly up just so, petting a kitten back to health. Anders and his caring and his strength and his gorgeous fucking hands, Maker.

She panted as quietly as possible.

Anders. _push me against a wall and yes, hands in my hair, oh, lips, hands hands_ Her thighs tensed, her toes curled into the sheet. In the clinic, empty beds, _he touches me there and there and no shirt yes I find his nipple with my fingers and he kisses me, mmm, tongue and lips and when he presses forward I can feel_ She came hard, silently, her cheeks red and her eyes squeezed shut and then relaxed slowly, more tired than she'd ever been in her life.

Her heart beat loudly in her ears. She tried to slow her breathing.

There was an abrupt rustle from out in the main room and her caught her breath, listening intently. Oh, Andraste's tits, had he heard her? A faint grunt, another rustle, then nothing.

She could go out. She could go out there right now, smallclothes damp, fingers smelling of her passion, tell him that she thought about him, dreamed about him. _Anders I just frigged myself to thoughts of you. Put your Maker-damned hands on me._

"Agh," she said softly.

"Sister, will you shut up," said Bethany grumpily.

"Sorry," Priana whispered, shut her eyes, and fell asleep.

She woke, deep in the night, hot and restless and dizzy. _Water_ , she thought, stumbling out of her bed and halfway into the main room before remembering Anders. She halted, swaying, staring at his blanket-swaddled form, right in front of the water barrel.

Maybe if she stepped over him, really carefully? She lifted a foot, the room tipped sideways, and she half-fell, half sat on the floor, twisting one leg underneath her.

"Andraste's ass," she whispered.

"Wha - who -?" Anders sat up, blue sparking around his eyes and hands, hair loose and touseled. "Priana?"

"Shhh," she said, waving a hand at him. "Everyone is asleep."

"What are you doing?" He brushed his hair out of his eyes. Oh, Maker, with his hair down he looked so vulnerable and cute. When he scrubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes, she bit the insides of her cheeks.

"Needed water," she whispered. "'M all hot."

"Wait," he said, throwing back the blankets and rising up on his knees. He put a hand against her forehead. It was cool and comforting and she leaned gratefully into it. "You're burning up," he said. "Hold still."

"No problem," she said dreamily as he moved his hands to cup her face. Blue swelled in the edges of her vision, lighting his features as he bent toward her.

"Lucky you," he said soothingly. "You're not at the vomit and other disgusting bodily fluids stage yet. Just a bit of fever, ok, quite a lot of fever, but that's not a problem, I've got you."

"You've got me," she agreed. The healing was like a warm tide sweeping slowly through her, gentle and slightly tingly. Her eyes unfocused. Her nipples popped erect. When it washed through the pit of her stomach her breath went out in a rush. All the hair on her body stood on end. _Do this forever, oh, Maker_. It was nothing like being healed in combat. It was like nothing she'd ever felt.

His fingers twitched against her cheeks, his fingertips crept into the hair at her temples. "I should have checked you when we finished for the day, dammit," he muttered. "Careless. If I hadn't been here ..." He shook his head. The blue glow faded. He pulled his hands away.

Priana reached up to catch one but he was too quick for her, rising to his feet, fetching her a cup of water.

"Drink," he said, offering it to her.

She drank it down.

"How do you feel?"

 _If I tell you terrible, will you put your hands on me again?_ "Fine. Thank you."

He looked troubled when he slipped back into his blankets. "I should have checked. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," she said. "You were so tired." She reached out with a boldness given to her by the dark, by their whispers, by the lingering warmth of his healing, and brushed a wisp of hair out of his eyes.

Her hand paused, hovering, by his face. She could feel the warm moist tide of his breath against her palm. His eyes were hidden in shadow but the set of his shoulders, the clench of his hands on the blanket ... for a moment she dared to hope.

He leaned away. The moment fell apart, dissipated into the stale, close air of the room.

"Go back to sleep," he said. "Healing is always taxing on the body."

Priana gathered her feet under her, stood, made her way back to her room. When she looked behind her, he was slumped forward, looking down at his hands.

"Good night," she said.

He lifted his head, sighed. "Good night, Priana."


End file.
